"But what will become of you?"
"That's nothing to you; it looks as if I must bid you good-bye; Billberry has gone lame, but I'll make the best fight I can, and if I go down, some of 'em have got to go with me."
Brinton was much perplexed what to do, but he knew that the question of life and death must be decided within the next few seconds.
CHAPTER IX.
"HE HAS MADE HIS LAST SCOUT."
The perplexing question was settled by Brinton Kingsland's pony taking his bit in his mouth and speeding towards the camp of the supply train, as if driven by a hurricane.
The youth could not but feel conscience-smitten at this apparent desertion of a comrade in dire extremity, but there was no help for it. Besides, Jackson was right when he urged Brinton to lose no time in saving himself, since it was out of his power to help the imperilled scout.
The pursuing hostiles had now approached near enough to make their shots effective. The whistling bullets warned Brinton of his danger, so he threw himself forward on the neck of his pony, who rushed ahead with arrowy swiftness.
The clatter of hoofs made young Kingsland glance to his left: there was Billberry, the scout's steed, with neck outstretched, going madly on.
He had been touched by one of the flying bullets, and in his panic forgot the weak leg that already had delayed him to a fatal extent. His desperate burst of speed brought him alongside of Jack, whose rider, to his amazement, saw him shoot ahead at a pace which none of his kind could surpass, and none there could equal.